I don't know how to ride a bike
A bicycle, you got that right
My legs go fuzzy, go on strike
They'd much prefer taking a hike
Silly, some people don't believe
That I'm still not able to achieve
What kids can do, they've got technique
While I've got training wheels at thirtythree
I don't know how to ride a bike
No balance, it is quite the sight
I must've tried a thousand times
It's time to quit, give up the fight
*cries*
My girl proposed a city trip
"Want to see Utrecht?" - is she sick?
Can't stay upright in spinnin' class
The land of biking is too much to ask!
I don't know how to ride a bike
I'll never know what it is like
I'll buy myself a tricycle
Laugh all you want, don't care at all
Everything I say has a subtext
Everything I say is quite complex
Everything I say is about sex
So says my new shrink, he’s called Dr Freud, so, er...
I talk ’bout my dad (“We’re in love with our own fathers”)
I don’t mean to (“Cos such feelings are forbidden”)
Every ex I’ve had (“Daddy’s face in every lover”)
Seems they’re him, too (“Every cock you’ve ever ridden”)
Surely that’s quite bad (“We’ve not started on your brothers”)
And obscene, too (“Filial love is often hidden”)
When I ask him why (“We must always blame our mothers”)
He can’t look me in the eye
His words confuse me. Wouldn’t say I’m sold
That every boy I see I’m putting daddy in my hole
None of this is my fault. I ask ’bout my role
Too soon – Dr Freud says there’s so much more…
’Parently my mouth’s (“Everything we swallow’s phallic”)
Mum’s vagina (“Every mouthful’s daddy’s spawn”)
When I suck a dick (“Mother-daughter bonds are Sapphic”)
It’s to spite her (“Every woman is a whore”)
She deserves our shame (“Oedipean castigation”)
Not desire (“The reverse of penis envy”)
Says the Book of Freud (“Psychosexual masturbation”)
He might have a point, but…
I think he’s confused. I came so I could try to
Start treating a fear that’s been haunting me since childhood
But he drones on ’bout sex, Greek love and fancying dad
Sure puts ‘anal’ in ‘psychoanalyse’
I don’t understand who all of this applies to
Since incest and dicks have fuck-all to do with darkness
For that’s my fear – not sex or cocks or channelling mum
But Freud, he sees cocks god damn everywhere
Where do you stand on fur? I simply can't live without.
I'm talking 'bout the exclusive kind,
no cheap cliché like a sheep or a cow.
Gimme exquisite fur, the type that screams to be touched.
I'm thinking polar bear or a tiger,
no nothing is ever too much!
Want a coat, want a coat of fur!
Elegant animals really can make me purr.
Soft and delicate, fluffy fleecy animal fur.
Want a stola from soft koala.
A sophisticated bra that puts the bra in zebra,
and a hat and some gloves, straight from the neck of a giraffe.
I am crazy 'bout fur, no matter how you protest.
Can see the shimmering in your eyes,
don't say you don't want my gorilla vest.
I never go to the zoo, it simply drives me cuckoo.
Cause all I see there is living clothing,
and maybe some furnishings too.
Want a coat, want a coat of fur!
Got my eyes on the prize and the rest is a blur.
Soft and delicate, tender velvet animal fur!
Want a jumpsuit from giant panda.
Got an evening gown that's covered in lovely jaguar.
For the next set I think I'll order a gorgeous cheetah.
Know exactly now what I want:
101 Dalmatians!
Want a coat, want a coat of fur!
And I’ll get them myself, I’m an entrepreneur.
Soft and delicate, squishy mushy animal fur.
If you think that I'm going too far,
then get out of my face quickly, I don't need your blabla.
You're as bad as those flowerfucking hippies from PETA!
Ah ah
There are times in life you must get from A to B
To go home, to go out, or to visit somebody
And at these times, you may wish to enlist
someone who can assist, you with your travel
If you're tired, drunk or feeling lazy
they will use their vehicle to drive you there
Taxi, Lyft or Uber, all work for your trip needs
If you want one, just download the app
Offering their service, in exchange for money,
Drivers come to where you are, and take you where you want
then you get out of the car (doesn't that sound great?)
Though it's awesome, it's not perfect
so please be aware
Not all of them can be truly trusted
Some are maladjusted, there's a dark shadow
Let me share with you now some stories
From my own experience, some are intense, oh oh
Creepy Uber drivers, don't look like their picture
Tell you to sit up in front with them
Ask you for your number, touch you while you slumber
hide a camera in the car, or compliment your bra
It can be hard, when you're young and cute-ish
To evade their clutches, get out of their car
Even then, some won't leave you alone...
I just got an SMS - uh-oh
"It's your Uber driver, with the black Range Rover I'm convinced that you're the one for me Would you say that maybe, you would be my lady Cos we bonded mentally"
Is it from Abdullah? No, wait, it is Clodagh
She was working on her PHD
Score was 4.80, such a classy lady
I'll admit that it was me, who first touched her knee, ah ah
She's my destiny
You promised us a new start, but it’s just more of the same.
It’s already October and we haven’t heard a name!
So we’ll just start a rumour to help make up your minds… Oh!
Hurts? No! It’s Hurts? Really? Hurts?!
’Cause the Scissor Sisters might if it’s right that they’re game.
You know that it’s Hurts? No! It’s Hurts? Really, Hurts?
In the end it doesn’t matter – the odds are the same
that either will be persuaded by the fee.
Or come first. Which is worse.
You tease us with a “huge star” and we’ll assume you’ve lied,
cos we’d get Marti Pellow with an unreleased B-side,
pretending to be sober. Afraid that just won’t do. So…
Hurts? No! It’s Hurts? Really? Hurts?!
It’ll prob’ly be denied in the cold light of day.
There’s no way it’s Hurts. Olly Murs said, “No, sir!”
Although he’d be good, Will Young said no, and he’s a gay.
We can’t be picky: we’ll go with Morrissey.
Bugger Hurts!
No, can’t even get Sinitta – not after this year’s “shock upset”.
It’s not what you intend but (it’s not what you intend but) oh! You do this all the time!
(Hurts? No! It’s Hurts? Really? Hurts?!)
Oh! Did we really hear that right? Proper final again?!
You know, that could work. Not just work – really work!
We’re not talking Song for Europe. No, nothing that lame.
They’ve promised there’ll be song-writing royalty.
True experts. Who needs Hurts? (Who needs Hurts?)
Top five for sure in Stockholm. Mmm, that’s a cert! (Cert, that’s a cert, that’s a cert.)
6AM, Aldergrove
Bottles of prosecco
Drinking is uncontrolled
Behold!
Summer in Spain, girls week in Santa Ponsa
Live the high life, flash boys from Trim
Friday from eight, we’ll have an all-night bender
You can be sure, we’ll get some peen
Fourth floor, try to unpack
Shared bathroom smells like cack
Dream of a fit boy’s sack
We attack!
Sun lounger wars
German towels cast asunder
We are Norn Iron
Red head and mean
Screams from next door
What the hell’s bothering her
That dozy whore
Brought no sunscreen
Don’t worry Maeve. Flirt with those horny blokes there
Forget the store, they’ll lend you cream
I told you have faith, fine it’s not Ambre Solaire
But you’ve procured, factor fifteen
(Gets finger stuck while adjusting sun lounger)
(Girls start playing pool volleyball with boys from Trim)
(Mild heatstroke hallucinations)
Shit the bed Maeve, those blokes have done you over
You’ve decomposed, skin looks like veal
So red – it’s grave! Clear you’re natural ginger
You’ve used obscure bogus sunscreen
Don’t worry babe, we’ll get some aloe vera
Tone down your light purple-ish sheen
Oh! Vitamin K might fix you good and proper
We’ll find a cure, amphetamines?
Just find me a guy, who is into tan lines!
Burn to go brown
You made a nasty blunder
Wrinkles are rife
Begin to peel
Trim boys were gay
Germans were really Dutchmen
Shite week abroad
Down the pan, this goddam, bogus sunscreen
Not mere fashion-smell, it's real father-sell
Have a desire to take you up for a meal
We'll be a kiss-and-tell, a real dapper pair
I have a heart and bod to you I wanna sell
Cos you are my Douwe, oh oh oh ohhh
Yes you are the Douwe, oh oh oh ohhh
You queer-o, yes, you are my gay bi-boy my P.R.
Hell you are my Douwe gobbling eel several times
Oh you are my Douwe woh oohhhh
Douwe Egbertsy Douwe, oh hohhhhh
I want to serve You up with an orange in a jar
And yes I can do that when you take me in your bar
Wa wa way, wa way
Wa wa way, wa way
Douwe's a certain look, bad boy's eye, token meat
Heaven's a car-park dusted under your gay medium
I want to bathe within your corporal punishment
A sexy man, a mini set-up, dirty tear
'Cos it is my Douwe - hooh ooh wwooooh
I still fancy Douwe -- hoh oooh oooh
It's just still Douwe who is turning me around
And it is just Douwe who is making me be loved
I wanna see Douwe - oh hohhhhhh
I'm in love with Douwe - oh hoooooh
A careful screw-up of the middle of the shah: -
It happens round Douwe when he dips into a bath
Wawaahhh weeegh wahweh
Wawaahhh weeegh wahweh
I wanna see Douwe, oh…
Douweeeh, aaaai!
I wanna see you-eh, ohooohhh…
Spend moments with Douwe, wohooooh…
'Cos I perceive you as a soldier in a car
And then stripped naked with a real sense of love
I wanna kiss Douwe , woh hoohhhh
My bouncy fit Douwe, wohhhhoohhh
And I'll see Douwe, common knowledge, he's a man
I've gotta see Douwe, put some cheese on his waaah!
